Picking Roses
by Ella D. Scottson
Summary: Ron and Hermione do their best to prepare themselves for their first child, while trying to keep Ron's life as an Auror separate from his life as a husband and soon-to-be father. Has Ministry rules endangered his wife and unborn child?
1. Chapter One

Chapter One:

The whole court room fell silent, as Hermione stared fiercely into the sweaty face of a nervous criminal. She knew how guilty he was, and so did he. "You know very well your actions were illegal and vial," she explained furiously, tapping an impatient fingertip on the bench she stood behind, "If you didn't know, your face wouldn't be beaded with sweat." Hermione stepped down through the members of the Wizengamot, until she stood beside the nerve-ridden man. "So why don't you just admit to acts of ruthless-!"

"You have no proof that I killed the creatures!" he spat, slamming his fists on the arm of his chair desperately, "only that I was selling their blood! And that will not land me in Azkaban!"

"Unfortunately for you, Mr. Verkaufer," a cool voice clarified, "that's not up to you." Hermione turned back and stared up to the prudent figure sitting in the bench behind her, flashing him a subtle, pleased smirk. "However," he continued, frowning back at her, "it is a truth to say, Mrs. Weasley, that your evidence is lacking beyond the unlawful trade of unicorn blood." Hermione's heart sank and her grin quickly fell to an expression of deep disagreement. "So," Kingsley continued, ignoring her urge to debate and rising to his feet, "unless you can find this court indisputable evidence, proving this man slaughtered the unicorns from which the blood he was selling was taken, by his sentencing Tuesday next, Mr. Verkaufer will spend no more than six months in Azkaban."

As the court room erupted in chatter of personal feelings on the matter and side verdicts, Hermione ran over to the bench in disbelief, "But Minister-!"

"You are dismissed," he order to the Wizengamot. Hermione hastened behind him at his heels as he exited the bustled room. "Mrs. Weasley," he explained calmly as they stepped into the elevator, "I cannot bend the law based on your gut feeling."

"But you know I'm right," she pleaded, "he deserves more time then he's going to be sentenced! Because even if he didn't kill them with his own hands, he knows who did! He must!"

"_Minister for Magic and Support Staff."_

Kingsley turned to her as the elevator jerked them to a halt, "Then I suggest you work on getting him to turn in his supplier. Goodnight."

Hermione threw her hand on the gate as it began to close, and as Kingsley began to leave. "I won't stand for any injustice under my case rule," she explained furiously, grasping back his attention, "I'm not ready for a guilty man to walk away with just a slap on the wrist! Kingsley, you know you're sentencing him weakly, because you have the same gut feeling I do!"

He sighed regretfully, glancing around to see if they were alone. "Yes, I do," he admitted reluctantly, "but this isn't the Order, Hermione; gut feelings don't stand up the conduct of crime and punishment. I assure you, I'll do what I can. But in the mean time, go home and get some rest." She nodded, happy she had gotten through to the Kingsley she knew personally. "And I mean it," he demanded, "stop killing yourself over this; you look exhausted."

"I don't have much else to do," she commented, slightly irritated with him as she stepped back into the elevator. Kingsley left her with an apologetic look as the gates closed and she sped away, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She began thinking of her husband, which she often forced herself not to do because it interfered with her ability to get her work done. However, subtle comments on how tried or stressed she looked, made her remember how much she missed him and wanted him home.

She unbuttoned her vest and leaned her head back, resting it against the paneled interior of the elevator and staring up interdepartmental memos, feebly wondering who they were for and what they said. Hermione closed her eyes as the memos blurred together with lights the swung from the ceiling, and once again, thought of Ron. He had been sent away six weeks ago on hunt to find a group of werewolves that had once been loyal to Fenrir Greyback, and who still believed in the same ruthless tradition Greyback had taught them. They had been marked a low threat, all talk, but never actually caused any damaged. But as October 31st, when three young girls were found dead in a park near their homes with mysterious claw marks gashed across their faces, the Ministry had to make their arrest top priority. However, werewolves had always been sly, living underground, and being nearly impossible to capture, which made them extremely dangerous.

"_Department of Magical Law Enforcement." _

Hermione sighed and opened her eyes as the elevator slowed itself. There was an eager, squirrel-like, woman waiting in the corridor, balancing a stack of parchment atop a brief case."Alice," Hermione proclaimed, shocking the poor girl as she went to help her, "what are you still doing here? It's nearly eleven!"

Alice Gates was a young woman, just out of Hogwarts, who had come to the Ministry desperate for work. She lived with her grandmother and younger brother, who was a fourth year, and none of them had much money. "You left everything in the court rooms," she explained, nodding gratefully as Hermione lightened the stack of papers in arms, "I'm sorry that you didn't win the case, Mrs. Weasley. That horrible man deserves a lot more than six months in Azkaban."

"Trust me, Miss Gates," Hermione assured as they turned into her office, "I haven't given up on this. I'll find what I need. I always do." She lowered herself into her chair and began flipping through the files on her desk, simply assuming Alice had seen herself out and was headed home for the night. However, Hermione stopped reading half way through the notes from that night's trial when she realized she hadn't heard exiting footsteps. "Yes, Miss Gates?" she inquired, peering over the top of the paper at a seemingly concerned Alice.

She twisted her hands nervously, "I found you asleep at your desk this morning..." Hermione set the notes down and stared at Alice. She had drawn the conclusion the girl must've been a Huffelpuff in school based on the fact that the idea a stepping on any personal land mines with anyone was the girl's Bogart. "I-I just don't think it's healthy for that to happen two days in a row," she suggested, avoiding extensive eye contact.

Hermione cleared her throat and rested her arms on her desk, "I feel like you're onto me Miss Gates."

"I'm a woman, Mrs. Weasley," she shrugged, "It's not that hard to figure out these things about one another." Alice dropped of color, as if she couldn't believe she had said what she did, and Hermione felt her own face get warmer and warmer. "Goodnight then, Mrs. Weasley," she choked, scrambling from the office with a tail between her legs.

Dropping her quill in a quitter's manner, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose where a headache was growing more and more painful. Alice was right, Hermione couldn't function through a day duplicate to the one she had just barely gotten through if she didn't go home. She needed a bed, and some tea, and to make sure Ginny was alright. So, she shuffled the papers that she considered highest priority, threw them into her case and stepped into the fireplace behind her desk. "The Potter's, Godric's Hollow!" she demanded clearly, tossing a handful of Floo Powder at the hearth.

To her surprise, her best friend was wide awake and sitting on the couch when Hermione staggered out from the living room fireplace.

Ginny picked the remote up off the coffee table, switched off the television, and Hermione found herself greeted by a severe glare of disapproval. "You were at the Ministry all night last night," she stated fiercely. Hermione stood frozen in front of her friend, who had apparently planned on waiting just to scold her. Hermione nodded once. "Hermione," Ginny sighed with slight impatience that she might've been trying to hide, "you can't do that! And it's the second time this week you have."

She was extremely irritated by this statement and stalked right past Ginny on her way to the guest bedroom. "I'm here to look after you, and to be here for you if you go into labor in the middle of the night!" Hermione retorted, hearing Ginny's footsteps start towards the bedroom, "Not so you can treat like some first year out of bed. I have a job to do at the Ministry, and right now, getting the proper sentence on that man is what's most important."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder as she turned down the bed and saw Ginny standing in the doorway, bearing a more-than-slight resemblance to her mother. "You've exhausted so much, its jumbled your priorities." she muttered dumbfoundedly, "Lets get a few things sorted out, yes? One: you're at the Ministry all night because you don't really know what else to do with yourself. You're like this every time Ron is off on a hunt; you revert back to your pre-Ron self, and do nothing but work. And secondly, nothing is more important to you than your family. You're just confusing yourself because you're nervous without Ron around to remind you that you're thrilled. The minute he gets home, its going to anything anyone ever hears about from you."

Without a proper response against what Ginny had just evaluated, Hermione continued to just glare at her as she threw her vest onto the foot of the bed. "I'm don't have to go in tomorrow," she mumbled with nothing better to say, "so I'll go in at noon." Ginny raised an eyebrow and snorted, obviously unimpressed by Hermione's solution. "Goodnight Ginny," she bade, her tone inflicted with more demand than well-wishing. After one last disapproving glance, Ginny wished her good night's rest and pulled the bedroom door closed on her way out.

The silence Ginny left behind was tense, but at least it was silence. And wrapped in the new found quiet, Hermione fell heavily onto her bed, not caring that her heels were still strapped to her feet, or that a necklace still cut against her throat. The pillows that contoured to her head were far to soft to deny for purposes such as removing shoes and shine. So she rested on the bed completely clad in business atire, her left hand across her stomach, and her mind racing with one last thought of her husband's ginger hair, before she drifted lazily to sleep.

**Author's Note: ** So here we are, the new and improved Picking Roses, with the same backbone, just a bit more meat. Or, if you're a vegetarian, same roots with a bit more leafage. And have no fear, Ron is coming!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

She faced the day fiercely, pounding down piles of paper work, and checking in every hour with the Auror Office on the unicorn blood investigation. Hermione swore to find what she needed by the date of the hearing, therefore teamed with a young Auror to hunt down all those who had bought from Mr. Verkaufer. It was simple, as she saw it. If Verkaufer was telling the truth, and he really wasn't the one slaughtering the unicorns for blood, than the true killer would merely find another desperate merchant on Nocktern Alley to take Verkaufer's place. And that unfortunate soul would be what the Auror would eventually be looking out for.

"Hermione I distinctly remember telling you to take a personal day," Kingsley declared, barging in to her office without even knocking.

Raising an eyebrow at his lack of respect, Hermione decided to keep reading through the Auror Office statements, jotting down notes as she went. "As it a 'personal' day Minister," she explained calmly, "I believe how I spend it should be a personal decision." She stole a quick glance at Kingsley's face and found him completely stunned by her response. "You don't have to pay me for being here today," she offered, continuing through the documents, "But I distinctly remembering telling _you_, I wasn't going to let Verkaufer get away unpunished."

"Hermione, you look terrible, like you're coming down with something," he retorted.

She flipped down the papers and glared at him furiously. "Thank you, Kingsley!" she snapped, "But I really don't like flattery from men besides my husband! So if you don't mind, I'm just going get back to solving this case."

The man in front of her was absolutely boggled, and stood frozen, with his mouth agar as though he had just been slapped. "Mrs. Weasley," he began slowly, trying recover from her sass, "because I know that there is something going on in your personal life that has driven you to be completely out character, I'm going to let the outburst of yours slide." She said nothing, not accepting her outburst as an outburst. "Because I did come down here to do more than scold you for having complete disregard for your personal needs," Hermione looked up at him, irritated, but with interest, "Mr. Verkaufer would like to speak with you."

"Well, its a good thing I'm here then, isn't it?" she asked with superiority, setting down her quill and following him to his office.

Sure enough, Hermione was greeted into the office by the overwhelming stench of caked on cigarette smoke and stale sausage, odors both of which belonged to the hunched man in shackles. Verkaufer stood at poor attention in front of Kingsley's desk, a Ministry officer clenched to each arm. He was a balding man with a beard that reminded Hermione very much of a dead rat, and he had sick sunken eyes that carried graying satchels beneath them. "I didn't kill any God damn unicorns," he growled with a voice like there was gravel in his throat.

Hermione crossed her arms and glared into his yellowing eyes, "Yes, we've all heard that numerous times." The man stared her down with a growing hatred, and she expected to be spat at at any moment, but he seemed to know better. "But unless you can give me the name of your supplier," Hermione explained, "we'll have to assume-"

"Some Spaniard I met when I was sailing off the southern shores of France!" he shouted, making the officers jerk. Hermione had grown used to his ill-tempered fits and remained quite still, not even breaking eye contact to flinch. She found it extremely hard to believe the ragged man in front of her ever had such money to sail to Spain with. "He wouldn't give me his name," he mumbled on with his tale, "and I shoulda left him there, but he was a charming basterd, very sly. Told me I could make it rich, that there were a lot of desperate people out there who wanted to live forever. He made me an offer of forty percent of all profets, so I fell for it."

Hermione glanced over at Kingsley, who seemed to be fooled by the story, which she had to admit, was very well thought out. "And this man didn't have a name?" she asked, staring back at Verkaufer. He shook his head. "What did he look like?" Verkaufer shrugged, and she rolled her eyes, convinced he was a liar. "So this man," Hermione paced a few steps back and forth, ready for the confession she had been eagerly awaiting, "has no name, you never saw his face, or remember anything about him, and yet you expect me to believe that he really killed those unicorns, when I can't find him to interrogate him?"

The skin on Verkaufer's face crinkled as he pinched his eyes shut and he began to think out loud, and for the first time, Hermione found she believed him. "He had pale hands, and they were cold," he replied heatedly, "He wore a cloak all the time so I never saw his face, and he usually wore gloves, but one time he must've forgotten them."

Kingsley now seemed caught up in a thought process of his own and waved to the officers to escort Mr. Verkaufer back to his holding cell. Hermione studied the Minister's expression keenly as he pinched the small beard that hugged his chin neatly. She couldn't quite figure out what he was thinking, but she had a strong feeling he had switched sides. "When a man drinks the blood of a unicorn," Kingsley began, coming out of his mind and staring at Hermione like she was a complex puzzle to solve, "every bit of him dies, except for his heart and brain. So it makes sense that this 'Spaniard' would be cold, probably very elderly and on the cusp of death. Otherwise he'd have no need for the blood."

Hermione struggled to conceal her utter bewilderment; it wasn't a day before that they agreed to do whatever it took to lock Verkaufer away. "Minister," she asked with slight hesitation, "you don't believe him, do you?" Kingsley looked as though he didn't fully understand his believing either, but he didn't shake his head. She dropped her arms at her sides with sense of fury, "Ron and I work for you, as high-ups, and we don't have money to sale off the coast of France to Spain. And you believe that a man wearing sole-less slippers for shoes does?"

"I'm not saying I believed every word," he assured her, raising a calming hand as she geared up to disagree with believing any of it, "But I ask you this: unicorns are seriously under estimated creatures, Mrs. Weasley, as I'm sure you know. They are dangerous if threatened. And with the centaurs in the same family, do you think Verkaufer is anywhere near strong enough to kill one?" Hermione crossed her arms again stubbornly, hating that his point was an extremely valid one.

But, before she could open her mouth with an admittedly poor response, the whole office was struck through with a painfully bright light, followed by a silver stag that knock parchment and folders everywhere as it came.

"_We have them!" _echoed a frantic voice, _"They aren't coming as peacefully as we had hoped, so please have the Atrium evacuated and all Aurors standing at the ready! You've got five minutes!"_

The stag continued rearing its head and destroying the neatness of the office a moment more before evaporating into smoke. Kingsley and Hermione stared at each other as they took a second to process what the stag was doing and saying. It dawned on her first and she immediately scrambled over the mess, what she now realize was Harry's stag, had made. "I'll alert the officers in the Atrium!" she informed Kingsley, bursting into the corridor, "You get the Aurors!"

It occurred to her, as she rode the elevator to the Atrium, that she had just given the Minister of Magic an order, which was not her place. But there was something about desperate situation that drove her to control, and she couldn't help it. And she thanked that the Minister was Kingsley, who, by now, probably understood.

"We need the Atrium evacuated!" she exclaimed to the men chatting around the Daily Prophet stand, and they all looked over at her with bewilderment, "In approximately five minutes, two Aurors are going to show up here with two very resistant werewolves, who I'm sure would love a kill! So I need you to get as many people out of here as possible!" Finally the men sprang up, barking orders to everyone as they ran into the bustling crowd of witches and wizards coming from lunch. Hermione found this to be extremely inaffective, as the few people the officers managed to speak to, were not going to pass on the warning. "This is ridiculous," she mumbled to herself, drawing her wand and pressing its tip to her throat, "_Sonorus! _Attention!" Her voice carried throughout the whole Atrium, and everyone stopped in their tracks to listen. "For everyone's safety, I need all persons to exit the Atrium in a swift, but calm manner immediately!"

There was a moment of shocked silence in which no one moved, but just stared around at each other waiting for someone to react. And once a young maintenance wizard came bursting through the crowd, screaming bloody murder, everyone did the same. As Hermione watched the mob of panicking people run to the elevators, knocking each other out of the way, she wondered why she even bothered to ask for calm. However, with all the racket that came with it, at least the exit was swift, leaving the Atrium deserted within a minute or two, with the exception of her and the officers.

They all paced impatiently waiting for not only Ron and Harry, but for Kingsley and Auror back up as well. "Kingsley," Hermione grumbled under her breath, staring anxiously between the elevators and the center floor of the Atrium, "where are you?" She couldn't really know how dangerous these two werewolves were going to be, if Harry and Ron were able to get them here, she expected she could help and get them down without Kingsley. But, she never really fancied leaving things to chance, and preferred the safe way out.

Unfortunately, Kingsley did not come in time.

Two cracks echoed through the hall, followed by numerous spells shot desperately in all directions, hitting an officer in the chest and sending him flying. Hermione looked over her shoulder one last time, but members of the Auror Office hadn't managed to come yet, so she rushed forward to help. She noticed Ron first, throwing a punch and bringing a werewolf to the floor, and, figuring he was doing fine on his own, turned to Harry. "Stupify!" she yelled, seeing Harry pinned to wall by his throat. Her spell flew right over the head of his attacker and shattered the tiles of the wall. Harry fell to the floor, gasping for a breath, as the yellow eyes of the werewolf turned onto her. He shot a curse in her direction, but it struck the Daily Prophet stand behind her, and it burst into a furious blaze. "Stupify!" she shouted again, shielding her face from the flames with her arm, knowing her spell wasn't shot with any great aim. The green streak of a killing curse bolted right passed her left shoulder, and she dropped to the ground to miss a second one.

Ron was now struggling off by the fireplaces and had received a few blows to the stomach, so apparently neither of them had wands, as he and his opponent were using fists. And she now realized, she was being attacked by, what appeared to be Ron's wand. "Pertificus Totalas!" She shot the curse desperately, looking back to the werewolf she had been dueling, noticing he was closing in on her.

Hermione had hit him square in the face, and he fell like an unsupported wooden plank to the floor in front of her. She smirked triumphantly, steeling Ron's wand back and putting out the flames that had already devoured the Daily Prophets. "Harry, are you alright?" she asked, running to his aid. There was a gash in his cheek, but he managed to stand with her help.

"Didn't Kingsley get my Patronous?" Harry struggled for breath, tearing off his scarf and pressing to the wound on his face, "I told him-"

"I know," she explained, glaring at the elevators heatedly, "I thought he was going to the Auror Office, but I don't know where he is."

"Hermione!" She glanced over and saw Ron still going back and forth with other werewolf, who also thought it best to clutch someone against the wall by his throat. Hermione let go of Harry, who stumbled around a bit, ran over, pulled the man off Ron, and drove her fist so far into his face, that his body was thrown backwards. Ron stared at her in astonishment as a group of Aurors finally came running into the Atrium. "That was brilliant, Hermione!" her muttered as she handed him back his wand.

She grinned up at him, leaning in for a kiss, "'Always a tone of surprise.'"

**Author's Note: **First we all know that last line belongs to J.K. But it is just perfect there, so cootoes to Joe for being amazing! Secondly, I love kick ass moments, so I had to have one before that cute stuff takes over. XXX Ella


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **No matter how hard I tried, I could not make Australia work. I gave this whole chapter a facelift. Also, the trial I skipped over in the other version is pretty important. I hope you enjoy this better. I think they're more in character in this too.

She rolled over in the sheets, expecting to wrap an arm around her husband's chest, but it merely flopped into an empty space beside her. Her eyes opened slowly to the great surprise that it wasn't morning as she expected, but judging from the thick darkness outside the window, it was late at night. Hermione sat up in bed with a blistering headache and the feeling of utter bewilderment as she was dressed in work clothes like she had just gotten home from the Ministry. Rubbing her head wearily, Hermione forced herself out of bed and headed down stairs.

"Hey! You're awake," Ron smiled, turning down the television as she came into the living room, "I was thinking about waking you up, but I didn't have the heart." Hermione accepted a hug from him as he walked up to her. "You must've really needed the sleep," he concluded, kissing her forehead lovingly.

"Have I been asleep since you got home?" she asked with slight disbelief.

Ron nodded, pushing her bangs from her face, "You- you had a rough night the other day." He stared down at her and cradled her face in his hands. Hermione smiled as he leaned in to kiss her, the first real kiss he had given her in eight weeks. And, as she rested her hands against his chest, she remembered just how much she missed him.

"Oh my God!" Hermione pushed Ron away frantically, apparently terrifying him, and dropped her face into her hands, "The trial!"

Ron laughed, going to the kitchen and pulling a pitcher of water from the fridge, pouring a glass of it for her, "Calm down. It's only Friday. And when I was at the Ministry today, Alice said she'd let you know if Aleck, your Auror, found anything." He came over to her and forced the glass of water into her hand. She just glared at him, realizing with him home, she wouldn't get the chance to work nearly as hard. "But like I said, you needed the sleep more than you needed to work." He spoke very defensively as if he had done something wrong, "Kingsley said he wouldn't even let you-" Ron began.

Hermione smiled, which seemed to surprise him. "Don't worry," she explained wearily, "I suppose it's a good thing you keep me from working myself to death. When you're gone, I-" Ron's face suddenly washed over with guilt as he went into the pantry. "What?" Hermione asked quietly, leaning against the counter.

"I'm sorry," Ron mumbled, "for being gone so long. Its just that I'm not as good of an Auror as Harry, and he was really distracted because of Ginny. It was all together a useless situation." Hermione just stared at him understandingly as he continued. "And then, couldn't find time to answer your letters, and I-"

She went over to him and took his snack, forcing his arms around her, "You caught them, so obviously you're much better than you seem to think. You don't give yourself as much credit as you should." Ron smiled faintly as she kissed his cheek. "And you're back," she sighed a bit more brightly, "that's what matters." He didn't seem entirely convinced, like he'd feel better if she yelled at him a little. "I'm going to change," she smiled, "I'll be right back."

Hermione headed back up the stairs to the bedroom where she climbed in relief out of her dress clothes and into something comfortable. Out of a habit formed while he was away, she reached for one of Ron's sweaters and threw it on. As she did, she noticed the bandage wrapped up her arm. After a moment of bewilderment, she remembered how the Daily Prophet stand had scorched her arm, but couldn't remember getting treated. Hermione shrugged it off, knowing how tired she had been and that everything the last week was pretty blurry. She bound her chilled hands up in the sleeves of Ron's sweater and took a seat on the bed. She stared contently around the room, realizing her home was beginning to feel lived in again; Ron's shoes were lying flopped on the ground right outside the closet door with his jacket hung on the knob. His tooth brush was next to hers on the bathroom sink, and the shower curtain was bunched up to one side instead of neatly drawn across because he had no shame in showing his collection of leaky shampoo bottles.

"Hey," Ron greeted quietly from the doorway, "you look comfortable." Hermione laughed a little as she tugged at the oversized sweater that hung at just above her knee and slid over to provide a seat beside her as Ron came towards the bed. "How's your arm?" he asked, taking a seat next to her. Hermione shrugged and pushed up her sleeve, ready to peel the bandage back a little to see how it was healing. "They seemed pretty worried about you at St. Mungo's," Ron said, reaching over to help her.

Hermione let him take over as she realized she had absolutely no recollection of going to St. Mungo's whatsoever. "Ron, did I get stunned by someone," she asked, which would explain why she felt so confused.

Ron nodded, holding her arm gently as he summoned a new bandage, "Apparently fists don't really work on werewolves." Hermione's eyes widened nervously. "The minute you turned your back on him, he hit you," he explained, looking upset as he wrapped the new bandage around her burn, "I tried to stop him, but he caught me off guard too."

Hermione could see her hand trembling under his care, "Ron, I-I don't how to ask this-"

"The baby's fine," he said quietly before she could finish her unresolved thought.

Hermione looked over at him with wide eyes, "You know?"

He smiled. "Ginny," Ron said simply, "She's ready to tear the Micky out of you." Hermione just continued staring at him, feeling extremely uncomfortable. "She told me how hard you've been working, how much you worried her. Of course I told her you could handle yourself and that you could take care of your own family. Honestly! The girl has one baby and she thinks she's the queen, doesn't she?" She wasn't really listening; she was too concerned with the fact that he knew she was pregnant and she could no longer pretend other wise. Sighing and staring back into the messy bathroom, Hermione became wrapped up in the toil she had been desperately avoiding for the last six weeks. He held her hand gently after tying the bandage around her palm, "What is it?"

"I don't know," she said dazedly. She stood up and took a few sporadic steps before turning back to Ron, who seemed terribly confused by her reaction. "I haven't really let it sink in yet," she crossed her arms up in the warm blue wool of Ron's sweater, "It hasn't been something I've wanted."

Ron laughed with disbelief, "Since when?"

"Since you're never here," Hermione answered with a serious amount of sadness. Ron's smile faded quickly. "You can't imagine how it feels to find out you're carrying the child of someone who, for all you know, might be dead," she said desperately.

"You're killing me off in a week?" Ron asked lightly, obviously trying to be humorous, "Blimey Hermione! I would hope you'd have a bit more faith in me than that." Hermione was not amused by him at all. In fact, she was quite irritated that he didn't understand how serious she considered this. Ron stared at her for a while as she tightened her arms with exasperation before he got up and came over to her. She glared at him stubbornly as he took her hands and cradled them around his face, making her smile reluctantly. "I'm not dead," he said quietly.

"I know," she agreed quietly.

"So," he began reassuringly, "there's no reason for you to be scared because I'm not going anywhere."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, feeling his hands trembling over hers. "You're absolutely terrified, aren't you?"

"Yes," Ron smiled sheepishly, "I passed out when Ginny told me. I doubt I'll ever hear the end of it."

Hermione burst out laughing, her hands still on her husband's face as she dropped her forehead into his chest. "We are completely hopeless," she groaned with a smile.

Releasing her hands, Ron wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. She felt his chin rest on top of her head. "Not completely," he said sweetly, "At least we have you."

"I was going to wait a bit to tell you," Hermione said after a while, tucking her arms between them.

Ron laughed, "And have a dull moment in our lives?"

"Right. Those have never existed for us," Hermione smiled.

**What do you think my friends? xxElla**


	4. Chapter 4

"Where the devil are you going?" Hermione, who had planned on sneaking off to the Ministry before Ron woke up, turned sheepishly away from the fireplace. Ron stood at the bottom of the stairs, glaring at her wearily as he threw his robe on. "Its six in the morning," he said unenthusiastically, "on a Saturday." Hermione just stared at him, as if she was still and quiet enough, he'd forget she was there. But he didn't. He lumbered over to her sleepily and grabbed the hand of her uninjured arm. "Your child's going to sleep for ten years when it comes out just to make up for their mother's nonsense," Ron grumbled, dragging her back to the bedroom.

Hermione rolled her eyes and reluctantly followed him, tossing her bag by the front door. When they got to the bedroom, Ron took her necklace and her jacket off, kissing her forehead before flopping face first back into bed. Hermione smiled as he immediately fell back asleep, and she turned back towards the stairs.

"Merlin's beard!" Ron groaned, clamoring across the sheets and coming up behind her. Hermione sighed as his arms wrapped around her waist and she felt his cheek against her neck. "Stop being difficult," he begged.

"But that's all I know how to be," she said childishly, laying her head back on his shoulder as they stood there.

She felt his arms tighten in a protectively loving way as she let him walk her back over to the bed, "Well, learn how to be tired."

Hermione smiled quietly, climbing back into the bed and nesting herself under the thick covers Ron pulled over her shoulders. She stared out the window, watching snowflakes crystalize themselves against the glass panes, obscuring the early morning sky. The frozen world outside made her happy Ron had dragged her back, and she turned to tuck her head under his chin, letting him wrap her in his warmth. She involuntarily closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair, easing her back to sleep.

The two of them stayed in bed all day, drifting off at their leisure, talking about Ministry matters, or just laying there quietly. Mostly Hermione just stared at Ron, listening to him tell stories that she might've missed out on growing up in the muggle world. She usually didn't pay attention half way in as she started to daydream.

"When I was very little," Hermione began quietly as late afternoon rolled across the window, and the sky turned pink, "we would go to this tea room in Whales every Easter with my grandmother." Ron, who had begun an embarrassing story about Charlie, fell silent and stared at her attentively. "I hated it honestly, but I never told my mum because it was a tradition. My dad knew though," Hermione smiled, looking at Ron for the same response, which she willingly received. "He would sit next to me and sneak me sugar cubes when my mother wasn't looking. By the time the tea actually came-"

"You must've been absolutely barking!" Ron laughed.

Hermione laughed too, "Ron, I was horrible!" After the laughter died down a bit, she stared wistfully into Ron's face. "My grandmother would get in such a huff about my behavior, she'd ask my father to take me for a walk. We'd always go out into the rose garden, and I'd pretend to be Alice in Wonderland trapped in the Queen of Hearts' maze. My father would always come and rescue me of course, and as we left the Queen's maze, he would sneak the most beautiful rose and attach it to my dress. I never got how he did it without a pin, but he just said it was magic."

Ron was quiet for awhile after she finished her story, so was she as she remembered her father. Despite all her efforts, her father didn't make it through the last leg of the war. Both her parents were found and captured by Death Eaters on their way to Australia. From what she could gather when she found them, Hermione's father had gone insane from being tortured so horribly and killed himself in a very short period of time. Hermione's mother, however, had stayed exceptionally strong as if she knew the pain wouldn't go on forever, and Hermione was grateful for that. Never-theless, she had always been Daddy's Little Girl, and therefore never really got over the loss.

"That explains a lot," Ron said as if he had cracked some great code. Hermione looked away from the window back at him, the expression of inquiry etched on her face. "Everyone said we should've used brighter flowers at the wedding," he recalled, "I told him how hacked off you'd be if there weren't roses. I thought you'd kill someone over those bloody roses."

Hermione laughed as she remembered how passionately adamant she had been about having that particular flower be the flower at their wedding. "At least now you know I'm not really insane," she smiled.

Rolling out of bed, Ron smirked, "I wouldn't go as far as to say that. The roses were only one of the reasons I thought you were insane." Hermione gasped, grabbing her wand and sending a patronus his way to nick him on the shoulder. Ron turned slowly, also grabbing his wand, "Two can play at that game."

She crossed her arms triumphantly, raising a malicious eyebrow, "I'm pregnant. You wouldn't dare." Ron cocked his head to the side and stared at her with a sort of wistful admiration. "What?" she asked cautiously, suspicious of his lack of a creative strike.

Ron smiled, setting his wand aside, "You must be getting used to the idea, if you're using it against me." Hermione sat back a little, realizing how she hadn't thought about what she was saying before he pointed it out. She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled her knees to her chest. "We've talked about a lot of things today," he said quietly, sitting in front of her, "but not this." Hermione didn't say anything, staring out the darkening window to show she had no interest in talking. She closed her eyes as Ron held her chin gently like he always did when she needed a loving nudge. "Hermione," he said quietly.

"Its something that'll take awhile to get use to," she said reluctantly, shrugging the words off like they didn't really matter. Ron stared at her understandingly, resting his hands on her knees. His hands were always warm, and it made her finally look at him again. Ron's eyes were fixed on her, gentle and the blue that would send you to sleep in the grass on a summer afternoon. The color wrapped around her and read all her secrets; they had known her for much too long. "I hate feeling vulnerable," Hermione whispered.

Ron suddenly laughed, "I don't know anyone out there who would describe you as vulnerable! Wicked smart, really brave, scary even, but not vulner-"

"I'm not saying I run around acting it," she explained, "But when there's nothing else for me to think about, I just get – terrified." It was always hard to get over the past before: constantly wondering when the strangely quiet man at the Ministry would turn around and kill Kingsley, having to check her entire home for intruders if she was alone. But with a baby, every chance seemed ten times worse.

Two sturdy hands reached forward and cradled her face, "I am not going to let anything touch you." Hermione took loving hold of his wrists and gave him a small smile. "Unless it's a spider," he added, "then you're on your own."

Hermione laughed, letting go of his wrists and flopping back onto the pillows, "What a knight you are!"

Ron smiled, leaning over her. "I would die for you and our family," he said, pressing his forehead against hers, begging for a kiss, "that's all I can offer."

"That's all?" she asked, resting a hand on his cheek.

"That's all," he answered, getting the kiss he had begged for.

**Author's Note:** Can I just say that writing about these two fill my heart with rainbows? Anyway, thanks for the great comments! I love you all! xxE


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